I was waiting for the streetcar, minding my own business, when a guy came around asking everyone at the stop for change. I didn’t have any but I gave him a cigarette. He then stood too close to me, stared down my shirt and proceeded to bug me.

Where was I going? What were my plans? Where did I live, did I have a boyfriend, would I date him…the usual stuff.

I answered in monosyllables and angled my body away from him, hoping my streetcar would hurry up and get there when he reached out and grabbed my breasts. I was flabbergasted and too shocked to react. Eventually I took a step back, laughed (that horrible nervous laugh) and told him that what he’d just done wasn’t cool. He brushed it off, as I put my coat on and did it up. He then continued to bug me for a date, and to know where I was going. My streetcar finally showed up and I fled.

Of course, that’s when the shaking and the anger kicked in. I was so mad that I didn’t push him, or shout him down.

A week later I was back at that streetcar stop and lo and behold, here comes buddy, asking people for change again. He started with me and I took a step back, raised my voice so everyone could hear me and said, “You’re that guy who grabbed my boobs last week!”

People turned around to listen, headphones came out. I was on a roll.

“No, I’ve never met you,” he said.

“I remember you,” I said, “you were wearing the same jacket, and you have the same douchey neck tattoo you had last week. You don’t remember me because you were staring at my tits the whole time.”

He tried to respond and which point I put my headphones in and said, over his protests, “I don’t want to talk to you. No. Step away from me. Step away from me right now.”

He did and realizing he wasn’t going to get any support (or change) from my fellow public transportation patrons, he fled.